


Moonlight

by GothicPrincessWitch, scatteringmyashes



Series: The Saga Of The City Of Broken Chains [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Past Abuse, Red-Purple Hawke, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicPrincessWitch/pseuds/GothicPrincessWitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Moonlight, a bloody pipe, and eyes as green as a field in spring? It's a recipe for love if Hawke's ever seen one. And for him, love at first sight means that he's willing to do anything this strange elf asks. Yes, even if it's murder.This is the story of how Garrett Hawke and Fenris Liberati meet.





	1. The First

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the third story in the saga! This, chronologically, takes place before the others so you can read it before the others. 
> 
> So far all of the stories have been fairly independent, but if you want to read in the recommended order you can check out the collection itself. 
> 
> With that, we hope that you enjoy this story!

Everybody knows that the life of the Kingpin of Kirkwall is dazzling, like something out of an action movie. Garrett Hawke says as much, after all, and styles himself as the kind of man who’d be the protagonist of a Quentin Tarantino film — a violent and edgy criminal with killer wit. He’s become one of the wealthiest and undoubtedly the most powerful man in the city and continues to impress nearly everyone with his good looks and natural charisma. And Kirkwall’s weekly tabloids never fail to include the latest juicy gossip about the Kingpin and his scintillating life among Hightown’s elite, from the latest of his exhilarating series of flings to highlights of the glittering affairs of the rich and famous, sprinkled with tantalizing hints at the darker, more wicked side of the most notorious — and certainly the sexiest — criminal overlord in the Free Marches. 

And of course everybody knows that Garrett Hawke is a crime lord, although he’s too powerful and pulls too many strings for local law enforcement to really do anything about it. It’s widely agreed that the fact that he’s so dangerous and untouchable only adds to his allure.

Everyone knows that Hawke has everything he could ever possibly want at his fingertips. Surely nothing could be missing from such a charmed, glamorous, adventure-filled life.

He tells himself the same thing each day, when he stares at his reflection in the mirror and spends at minimum an hour grooming his appearance.

Hawke has worked harder than he’d dreamed possible to get to where he is, and he’s sacrificed more than he would ever dare admit, but somehow he’s managed to achieve every one of the goals he said he would when he first embarked upon this life of crime. Fame, money, power, a fearsome reputation, a seemingly endless array of sexual partners from socialites, models, actors, artists, anyone gorgeous and tempted by the thrill of the Kingpin’s danger and the deadly gleam in his lust-filled golden eyes...

So of course he must be happy. Obviously. Everyone knows that he’s happy. 

His little sister, Bethany, is the only one who knows that his childhood dreams of the future were very, very different, but those dreams were snuffed out long ago. This is his life now, and he might as well enjoy it just as much as he tells everyone he does, using every pleasure at his disposal to try to fill the void inside him.

And part of that pleasure is found in violence and bloodshed, which Hawke is particularly talented in.

It’s good to find enjoyment in what one does for a living, and Hawke wouldn’t have become such a powerful crime lord if he didn’t enjoy it. When it’s just him and the knives in his hands, there’s no mask of feigned happiness in place; each slash and thrust of his blades reveals his true self. Plus it helps to make a statement that he’s not above taking personal revenge upon those who defy him.

That brings him to nights like this very one, just past midnight, in which he rides his motorcycle through the streets of his City of Chains, knives and gun at his belt and in the pockets of his black leather jacket, making his way to Lowtown to search for the newest batch of Tevinter slave traffickers he’s heard reports of. Hawke forbids all slavers in his city, and if the reports are true and they’re here attempting to defy his authority, then he’s going to personally remove each one of them from Kirkwall — in bloody pieces.

Hawke can’t think of anything that could possibly make him truly happier than ruthlessly murdering a group of slavers.

 

#

 

Not all of Lowtown is dangerous, but the slums closer to Darktown certainly are. Hawke, however, is the most dangerous person there. He parks his motorcycle in a darkened alleyway and then proceeds on foot, melding into the shadows and moving far more soundlessly and stealthily than one might expect from such a large and well armed thug who leads such a flashy lifestyle. He heads toward the area his informants reported spying the Vints. There was a description given of only one: an older man, grey-haired and bearded, too well dressed and imperious-seeming for Lowtown.

The sounds of a fight reach his ears, and Hawke pauses, remaining hidden in the shadows still, out of sight from the glow of the streetlights, before heading in that direction. As he draws closer, he can glimpse more details of the fight, but at first it’s hard to see what’s going on. It’s almost as if the cluster of cutthroats are defending themselves from a ghost.

But then he spots a silver light like bright moonbeams gleaming in the darkened street corner, a blur of destruction, and he finds himself captivated by the sight. He approaches as close as he dares while the glowing spectre finishes the fight victorious, and the light dims.

Hawke emerges from stealth across the street, close enough to see and be seen clearly, but far enough away that he’s fairly certain he won’t be immediately attacked. (After all, who would be foolish enough to attack the recognizable Kingpin of Kirkwall?) He crosses his arms over his chest and leans casually against the iron pole of the nearest street lamp.   

“It’s a lovely night for a fight, wouldn’t you agree?” he calls out in greeting and finally gets a full view as the elf turns around, and suddenly his heart freezes within his chest, sending ice through his veins.

There is a man underneath the broken streetlight, half embraced by shadow and half free from it. He is looking directly at Hawke, beautiful green emeralds shattering Hawke's defenses and piercing him so thoroughly that he can barely breathe. The man is slim, unhealthily so, with secondhand or stolen clothes hanging off his frame. A baggy sweatshirt hides his torso and his jeans are ragged at the edges and across the knees. Despite the layers he has acquired, a faint glow escapes and bleeds through the fabric. The white light is reminiscent of the way the moon reflects off his hair, casting half a halo in the beam.

He is holding a pipe in one hand. Blood drips down its length, staining his skin with maroon. There is something in his other hand, which is curled into a fist around whatever he holds. It is now that Hawke notices the three bodies pushed deep into the alley behind the stranger. All three bodies look like they have been beaten to death, no regard given to mercy, except one has a strange hole in his chest.

The stranger relaxes his hand. A heart drops out of it. When it hits the ground, it sounds like any other piece of meat. The red smear is too easy to miss with the dirt and grime on the sidewalk.

“My name is Fenris.” That voice is deep and resonates inside of Hawke's bones. It makes his hands tremble and his heart skip. He can't tear his eyes away. “These men were slave hunters, come to retake my master's property — namely myself. They are not the only ones to come here for this goal and they will not satisfy themselves with one slave. If allowed to continue, they will prey on this city's poor and displaced. If you wish to stop them, allow me to leave. If you try to stop me…”

Fenris flexes his now-free hand. He does not look away from Hawke.

Hawke is struggling to remember how to breathe because Fenris — this beautiful, blood-drenched stranger who’s seemingly stolen Hawke’s kills — and his piercing eyes and breathtaking voice have chased away all coherent thoughts from Hawke’s mind. Somehow he manages to pick his jaw up off the ground and says, “Maker, can I wash that blood off you?”

Wait, what the hell happened to his natural charm and wit? Hawke clears his throat and tries again, saying, “You know, usually I’m the one who goes around killing slavers, but you seem to have done my job for me tonight, Fenris. I could use your help taking out the rest of them.”

Hawke glances at the steel pipe in Fenris’s hand, and his eyes flick back down to the heart dropped upon the ground. Suffice to say that Hawke is very very impressed and also very turned on. Apparently ripping out hearts of slavers is his newly discovered kink, who knew.

“I’m Hawke,” he continues with his most charming grin possible. “Yes, _the_ Hawke. A pleasure to meet you.”

Fenris does not look impressed. He has a blank expression, which is better than being aggressive, but is hardly what Hawke is hoping for.

“I know where they are staying. If you wish to kill them, I…” He falters. His Adam's apple bobs up and down. “I will not deny your assistance. But I will not owe you. And I will not hesitate to kill you if you betray me. Is that clear?”

Normally a threat like that would instantly put Hawke on edge, because who would dare disrespect him? But Hawke takes another look at Fenris and sees the rage and pain burning in those beauteous eyes. Fenris, he realizes, has no clue who Hawke is. In all likelihood Fenris expects Hawke to lure him into a trap and sell him out to the slavers.  And Hawke knows all too well the cruelty that slavers are capable of inflicting on their victims. Some people have earned the right to paranoia, so he lets it go.

“Clear as crystal,” replies Hawke smoothly. “So where are they? I’ll give you a ride.”

There is a long pause as Fenris weighs the benefits and danger of accepting the help. His hand tightens around the pipe. Then he nods. Just once, hardly a head tilt, but it's visible.

“There is a mansion in the rich section of the city known as Hightown. I… I do not know the address but I can show you. Where is your car?”

Hawke jerks his head to gesture in the vague direction of where he’s parked. “Follow me,” he says as he turns around and walks away. Hopefully pretending to show vulnerability by turning his back to him will convince Fenris to lower his guard a little and actually go with him. Hawke’s pulse has started to race, adrenaline rushing through him, as he anticipates what might come after this little slaver killing adventure in Hightown. Fenris is, after all, the most drop dead gorgeous man Hawke has ever laid eyes on. Once again he glances at Fenris’s silver-marked fingers clutching the steel and imagines just how well Fenris might be able to grip Hawke’s own pipe. “Are you coming?”

Fenris is about twenty feet behind, closer than he was before but still a respectable distance between the two of them. He doesn't look like he trusts Hawke but he doesn't look like he's going to slam his pipe into Hawke's head. He doesn't say anything, he just nods again.

“So what brings you to Kirkwall?” Hawke asks conversationally, tilting his head slightly toward Fenris as they walk. The advantage of Fenris walking so far behind him is that Fenris has a good view of Hawke’s ass, which is a pretty good looking ass if Hawke says so himself.

“... I came to escape those who hunt me. Once they are dead, I will leave. It is too dangerous for me to stay anywhere for long.”

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay?”

“No.” Fenris has grown closer. He is only a few feet behind Hawke. His eyes flicker back and forth, trying to take in everything nearby. A homeless man comes out of an alley and Fenris flares up — literally. His skin is glowing white, temporarily blinding in the general darkness of the street. Then he sees that this is nothing threatening and the light dims.

Fenris swallows, looking directly at Hawke. He seems nervous, almost expecting Hawke to suddenly attack him.

Hawke, who is staring once again, finds his gaze drawn to the curves of silvery-white lines, curling like vines, visible on Fenris’s skin. “How do you do that glow thing?” he inquires, unable to keep the fascination out of his voice. “Are you some kind of mage? I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“ _No._ ” Fenris spits the word like it is venom. “I — they are lyrium. My master burned it into my skin. It is why he wants me back. I mean nothing to him, but the lyrium in my skin is worth more than you can imagine. He would carve it out of my corpse.” Fenris spits on the ground. The anger in his voice is almost enough to cover his fear. Almost.

Hawke isn’t sure which is a more horrifying notion: Fenris being branded full body or Fenris being flayed and mutilated further to have the lyrium removed. His stomach churns, and bile rises in the back of his throat. Despite only having just met him, Hawke cannot stand to picture Fenris being hurt like that. The thought of that exquisite, burning will to live free being snuffed out forever is not something Hawke ever wants to imagine again. He shakes his head to banish the thought from his mind.

“That would be a shame,” Hawke responds aloud, doing his best to keep his unfazed, nonchalant demeanor in place like a mask. “It would be such a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.” He turns around and gives Fenris a smirk and a cocky little wink.

The look on Fenris's face can only be described as dumbfounded. He lets out a cut-off laugh, coughs to clear his throat, and looks away. There's the faintest hint of a blush in the tips of his pointed ears.

 _Oh Maker._ Not only is he hot but also very adorable. Hawke is completely fucked.

He tries and fails again to hide his stare and is distracted enough that he almost trips over his motorcycle. Fortunately he manages to catch himself just in time and tries to pass it off as an oh so smooth gesture to the seat.

“Hop on,” he says with a grin. He picks up his helmet and offers it to Fenris. “Safety is important. You take the helmet.”

Unsurprisingly, Fenris does not take the helmet. He looks like he'd rather do anything else than get on the motorcycle, but even he knows how long it would take for him to go by foot to his destination. Some part of him must also decide that he could kill or injure Hawke, were he to attempt to hurt Fenris or otherwise kidnap him. He gets on the motorcycle, gingerly holding onto Hawke. He acts like being this close to Hawke is comparable to touching a dead corpse.

“Go. I will tap your shoulder when we need to turn. I… I will know once we are in Hightown.”

As Hawke revs the motorcycle and takes them up to the luxurious heights of the City of Chains, it dawns on him that this is probably the biggest risk he’s taken in years. Fenris has threatened to kill him and probably very well could, and yet somehow Hawke finds himself drawn like a moth to a flame. Maybe it’s because Hawke has a soft spot for victims of Tevinter slavers. Maybe it’s because Fenris is the most handsome man Hawke has ever seen. Maybe it’s because the press of Fenris’s fingers against him is sending electric sparks down Hawke’s spine like tingles of excitement. It’s thrilling and makes Hawke feel alive in a way he’s never felt before.

And as they drive into the night, Fenris's grip gets a little tighter.

 

#

 

Hawke takes Fenris to Hightown, zooming through any and all red lights as if they were green just for him. The difference between Hightown and Lowtown is clear: for one thing, Hightown is much better lit at night. It is beautiful with cobblestone streets, manicured trees lining the sidewalks, and expansive mansions, townhouses, and upscale shops and boutiques as far as the eye can see. But Hawke belongs here in the city’s wealthiest district just as much as he belongs in the shadows of the slums.

He relies on Fenris’s tapping his shoulder for directions and hopes he’s going the right way. Eventually they reach a neighborhood about half a mile south of Hightown’s gilded Chantry cathedral, and Fenris signals Hawke to stop.

The mansion is one of many, complete with a gated entrance and security cameras pointed outwards. The stone is cleared from vines and the gate is strong iron, no sign of weakness. Across from a large lawn — and an elaborate fountain that bubbles in the center — are the steps leading up to a large double door. There are no guards visible, but there is an understanding that people are watching and waiting for trespassers.

“Are we here?” asks Hawke, as casually as if they’re strolling up to a pub for a drink instead of going to murder the slavers hunting Fenris and trespassing on Hawke’s territories. 

“Yes. Be wary. There may be any number of mages or their summoned beasts. And they will not hesitate to kill you.” Fenris gets off the bike. He swings the pipe back and forth a few times, testing it.

Hawke removes his helmet and nods. “Nor I them,” he responds. “Let’s be careful. We’ll sneak to the back and scout the place, estimate how many there are, and then attack from stealth, using surprise—”

Fenris isn't listening. He heads to the gate and glares at the camera. His brands light up and he reaches out, ripping the gate off of his hinges with a superhuman display of strength.

“Danarius!” He hollers. “Prepare yourself. Pray to whatever gods you follow.” He marches forward, brands still flickering as he runs across the lawn. He practically makes it to the front door before Hawke can react.

“Hey, quick question: what the fuck happened to subtlety?” Hawke hisses as he dashes after Fenris. He, of course, ignores the hypocrisy of the question and draws his bowie knife in one hand and a throwing knife in the other.

The two reach the door and, without stopping, Fenris kicks it open. A whole host of shades swarm in the entry, the lights flickering as magical energy interferes. Fenris grits his teeth and leaps into the fray. His metal pipe swings wildly, hitting the barely tangible enemies. With his brands glowing, it’s easy to track him, and indeed most of the shades seem to converge on his position. There doesn't seem to be any mages around, but there are more than enough hallways and doors that one could have slipped off into.

Hawke stays close, wishing he had more than a couple knives and a gun to fight off the demons, but he slices at any shade who dares to come too near him, all while taking care not to breathe in too much of the miasma hanging heavy in the air around the shades. He’s also trying his best not to be completely distracted by Fenris, who is glowing and fast and dangerous and very, very distractingly sexy.

Even though the two of them are heavily outnumbered — there must be at least two dozen shades — together they fall into an easy pattern. Fenris draws their foes near and then, when they find it harder to kill the lean elf than expected, Hawke assassinates them from behind. Every once in a while, Fenris's brands pulse and shove back any shades that have their grasp on him. Hawke instinctually ducks down, avoiding the brunt of these blows. No words pass between them, but none have to — they can guess what comes next, what give and take needs to happen as they fight on.

This many demons should be a hard fight, yet surprisingly, fighting alongside Fenris feels so effortless. Fenris has somehow sensed Hawke’s weak points in melee and found a way to make up for them, and Hawke finds himself fighting in sync with Fenris. Although Hawke couldn’t possibly count how many fights he’s been in, and although he considers himself very skilled at violence, no fight has ever felt this, well, this _nice_. He’s actually having fun slicing and dicing shades with this mysterious and maddeningly attractive elf.

Hawke takes a moment to flash Fenris a charming and seductive smile. You know, to show his appreciation.

Fenris looks at him with wide, wide eyes. He opens his mouth to say something and, for a moment, Hawke gets his hopes up about this wonderful elf flirting back.

“Duck!” Fenris shouts.

“Shit!” Hawke manages to duck out of the way just in time to avoid the swing of a shade’s outstretched claws. That’s what he gets for trying to flirt mid-battle. Fenris dashes around Hawke, twisting away from the shade’s attempt to clobber him, and swings his pipe through the shade. Its form melts away, and suddenly, the only noise is the two of them breathing heavily. All their foes lay little more than piles of ash on the floor.

Fenris stands there for a moment, shoulders and chest heaving as he struggles for air. His eyes are half-open, still focused enough to see if Hawke were to move to attack him. But, at least in those handful of seconds, Fenris looks almost at peace. Then he opens his eyes fully and looks at Hawke with those vibrant green eyes.

“We should move on. He will know we are here.”

“Sweet Maker, you’re incredible,” Hawke murmurs breathlessly. “I mean, obviously he knows we’re here. You shouted it loudly enough on the way in. And I thought _I_ had style. I can’t believe — Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Instead of answering, Fenris reaches to his pocket and pulls out what is unmistakably a small vial of potion. Mages don't rely on such healing methods often, not with the advent of modern technology, and even a few mouthfuls of a healing potion is rare. Fenris regards Hawke carefully, eyes taking in the injuries the man has sustained. After a moment of consideration, Fenris uncaps the vial and swallows about half. He then holds the rest out to Hawke without a word.

Hawke takes it and swallows, his eyes never leaving Fenris for a moment. Since the moment they met, Fenris has continued to impress Hawke more and more, but Hawke doesn’t seem to have made the slightest impression on Fenris. It’s… more than a little confusing. And yet Hawke is drawn in by Fenris all the more.

“So, those demons,” says Hawke. “They had to have been summoned by a nearby mage. There’s at least someone here who’s too cowardly to fight us themselves. Typical slaver scum. You’re in charge here, Fenris. Where do we look next for this Danarius?”

“There is are many upper levels, but it is pointless to search all of them. I know where Danarius will be,” Fenris promises. He swallows as he looks at Hawke. He seems temporarily distracted, but then he turns and heads towards a grand staircase. He does not seem at all concerned to be putting his back to Hawke.

Hawke eagerly hurries after him. “Let’s go kill him before he brings any more demons.”

The two make their way up the stairs. The mansion is eerily quiet and their steps and breathing are the only sounds audible. As they reach the first floor and turn to continue up the stairs, Fenris stops still. His eyes are locked onto a grotesque pile of bodies, each bleeding and looking up with lifeless eyes. Their expressions are twisted into agony. Save one, all of the them are elven.

Fenris begins shaking. From rage or grief it is impossible to tell.

Hawke inhales sharply. Fury burns through him as he stares at the corpses. He doesn’t have to ask to know what happened here. Sacrifices for the blood magic to summon the shades. Maker damn Tevinter mages with their damned insatiable bloodlust.

“I’m sorry,” he says, although he knows those simple words cannot undo a horror like this. “If only we’d gotten here sooner… But we can stop him from hurting anyone else.”

“There will always be men like Danarius,” Fenris replies softly. He turns away. “There is nothing we can do for them except kill the person responsible.”

“And we will.”

Hawke is filled with the sudden urge to comfort Fenris, and he reaches out toward him before faltering, not knowing what else to say. Yet he can’t help but wish he could undo however this Danarius has hurt Fenris. Still, their fingers brush together and Fenris seems to jump a foot in the air. He stares at Hawke, not attacking but startled. Fenris's expression resembles that of a young child told off for something they did not realize was wrong.

“Yes?” Fenris asks, voice low.

“I…” Maker, how does he keep losing his wits around Fenris? “I’ve got your back, you know. I’m not going to let him hurt you or anyone else tonight. You’re not facing this alone.”

“... thank you.” Fenris once more turns away and, this time, proceeds up the stairs for good. But there is unmistakably a little less weight on his shoulders.

The third and final floor is dimly lit by lights sporadically flickering on and off. There is just enough visibility to make out a shadow coming from underneath one doorway at the end of the hall. This time, rather than rushing in, Fenris hesitates. He adjusts his hold on his steel pipe. Bits of flaky ash still fall from it, remnants of the shades the duo defeated just moments ago. The mansion creaks and groans. Fenris glances back, ensuring that Hawke is still there. Then, without further ado, Fenris reaches forward and flings the door open.

It's an office. An oak desk sits towards one large, glass window that has its curtains drawn back so that the full moonlight pours inside. A fireplace, unlit, is set into the wall on the left. It is flanked on either side by bookshelves stuffed with dusty tomes. There are two armchairs on the right of the room, a single circular table between them, upon which an ashtray is set.

Almost as soon as the door opens, three rage demons and six more shades emerge from the Fade. They rip their way into this world as a desire demon steps forward. It has a feminine body and exudes warmth but its eyes are cold as it points at Fenris.

He grits his teeth. His brands once more alight in blinding white, and he launches himself towards the nearest demon, almost without concern for his own safety. It’s one of the rage demons, and it bellows like a furnace as Fenris challenges it. The demons’ claws sweep toward Fenris, heated and burning like the sun as Fenris phases through and solidifies only to strike with his steel pipe. Hawke stays nearby as he fends off the demons near Fenris’s flank. Knives flashing in his hands, Hawke thrusts and cuts and slashes as fast as he can, knowing that if the rage demons get too close, the two of them will burn alive.

It’s clear this Danarius is using the repeated onslaughts of demons to wear them down while he stays hidden, waiting like a spider for the moment his prey is trapped. But the two fighters are definitely giving this their all. Fenris spins like a whirlwind, taking down anything that gets too close with blunt force and his lyrium brands. A rage demon gets a good chunk out of his side and he stumbles, but then Hawke is there, practically using his body as a shield to keep the demon from getting closer to Fenris, while he uses his knives to keep it at bay.

“You know,” Hawke remarks, a tad breathlessly, “when I pick up handsome men for a night, this isn’t usually what happens. We might do better to retreat and hunt down Danarius with reinforcements. You’re not going to find him while he’s got us distracted like this.”

His bowie knife is half-melted from the rage demon’s infernal heat, and he throws it at the closest demon for whatever blunt damage it can do. Then he quickly draws his gun and aims at the desire demon before it can cast any magic their way.

There’s a split second — just a moment — where suddenly the desire demon seems to shift somehow, and Hawke is all but overwhelmed with the feeling, the crystalizing realization, that he could very easily have a night with Fenris, if only he were to stop fighting now. His gun lowers as lust rises within him, the urgent desire to take what he wants from this most handsome, most alluring, most maddeningly tempting man. After all, he won’t get anything from Fenris if they’re both killed in this fight, or if Fenris does find and kill his former master and then runs away like he said he would. But if Hawke stops fighting and takes Fenris away from this, well then, maybe they could share a night away from all these demons and magic and madness and do something much more fun.

Hawke shakes his head, willing himself to think clearly. Fenris tackles him out of the way of the desire demon’s claws.

“What are you doing?” Fenris hisses as he quickly stands, helping Hawke to his feet as well. There is ash and soot staining Fenris’s hair and he’s limping, but other than that and the gash on his side he’s fine. Only the desire demon remains — the two have made short work of all the others.

Heartbeat thundering so loudly that it nearly drowns out Fenris’s words, Hawke stares open-mouthed at Fenris. Shame washes over him as he realizes just how easily he’d fallen under a desire demon’s spell, and his golden brown eyes flicker down to Fenris’s hand around his. “I…” Words dry up on his throat, and he coughs. “I was just taking a break.”

He turns toward that damn desire demon and fires his gun twice. He doesn’t miss. It’s over. There is no sign of Danarius. That bastard must have escaped while he could once Fenris and Hawke’s victory was clear.

This realization slowly washes over Fenris and his face morphs from relief to sorrow and then rage. He swallows, stepping away from Hawke and curling his free hand into a fist. His other is so tight around the lead pipe that his knuckles are white.

“I — I need air. Take what you want. I am certain there are things worth good money here. I will be outside.” With that, Fenris turns and walks out of the room.

Hawke groans. The heady visions from the desire demon are dissipating from his mind, chased away by that expression of despair on Fenris’s face. Hawke can’t get that out of his mind.

He runs after Fenris. There is nothing valuable he wants in this mansion. The only reason Hawke is here is walking out the front door.

“Wait!” Hawke calls out after Fenris. “Wait, just a moment, please.” He pauses for breath and then smooths back his hair, smearing in blood and grime and ash and who knows what else, and then he sighs.

Garrett Hawke, the Kingpin of Kirkwall, the man with a silver tongue who wants for nothing, cannot think of anything to say to persuade Fenris not to leave. And he knows, deep in his heart, that no matter what he were to say if he even could think of something, that he can’t stop Fenris from leaving and that if he were to keep chasing after Fenris, then really, he’d be no better than Danarius.

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay?” he asks, a desperate attempt nonetheless.

Fenris is looking at the ground. His hair falls over his face. He is so, so strong, but in that moment he also looks so small and fragile. As if a strong breeze could push him over.

“I have… I have spent so much time running. I thought he would be there. I thought, finally, that—” He cuts himself off. He slowly shakes his head. He looks up, eyes landing on Hawke but not really looking at him. More… looking near him. Fenris refuses to meet Hawke’s gaze. “It is not safe. Danarius still lives and he still hunts me. I appreciate your assistance, Hawke. I am only sorry that it was pointless.”

Fenris extends a hand. Hawke clasps it, squeezing gently.

“It wasn’t pointless. I got to meet you.” He tries to summon one of his charming grins. “If you ever change your mind, look me up. I’m the Kingpin of Kirkwall’s crime, you know. I’m a powerful man. I can protect you.”

Their hands fall away from one another. Fenris sighs and glances down once more. “No one can protect me.” He begins to walk off, heading down the street. “May the rest of your night be safe and uneventful, Garrett Hawke.”

Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, trying to drown out the voice in his head that this is a mistake, Hawke stands there, feeling dejected and wistful, as he watches Fenris walk away, staring until long after Fenris is out of sight. Then he returns to his motorcycle and heads home, thinking only of a man with eyes like brilliant green jewels and hair like strands of moonbeams.

On the steps to the entrance of his luxurious, upscale Hightown apartment building, Hawke looks up the moon, full and shining and huge in the night sky, and he fervently hopes that wherever Fenris goes from here, he’ll be alright.


	2. The Second

When Garrett Hawke was five years old, he saw a rendition of _Cinderella_ on his family’s TV. For months afterward, he couldn’t stop singing the songs and dancing about and dreaming that someday a handsome prince — or princess, Hawke would be fine with either — would kiss him and rescue him from his miserable life, taking him to a world of enchanted happiness. As he grew up, Hawke learned that fairy tales are only stories, that wishes and dreams don’t come true, that the handsome prince usually leaves in the morning, and that the only one capable of rescuing him and turning his life around is himself. 

And there is no such thing as happily ever after. 

This is, of course, because happiness, true happiness, isn’t meant for people like Hawke. It’s only a dream, as intangible and unreachable as beams of moonlight. 

Nonetheless, this doesn’t stop Hawke from dreaming and wondering what could have been. What could have happened if he’d had a different life? What could have happened if he’d met someone and had the whirlwind romance he’d yearned for as a child? Foolish thoughts of a vain man, yes, but at least these imaginings are something to kill time as the days pass in his empty life. Not empty as in uneventful, that is, for Hawke’s days are filled with “business” meetings and connections, and his nights are filled with glittering society events, bloody altercations with rival gangs and threats to his power, and stolen moments of pleasure here and there. 

But none of it means anything. Not really. 

And when Hawke lies back with a sigh in a hotel bed, the sheets beneath him soaked with sweat, the candles burned low, while his date of the evening showers before leaving, he closes his eyes and imagines a pair of lovely green eyes. The most beautiful green eyes Hawke has ever seen, gleaming with intelligence and a determination to live. Fenris was different — _is_ different — from anyone else Hawke has ever known. Could Fenris have been the one to rescue him from the emptiness of his lonely life? Would he feel happy if Fenris had stayed? There’s no way to tell, really.

He wonders where Fenris is now, two months after the night they met. If he’s still running. If he’s managed to continue to evade Danarius’s pursuit. Hawke tried his best to locate Danarius, but the Vint had fled Kirkwall. He was tempted to try to track down Fenris, just to see if he’s alright, but his better judgement held him back.

Hawke continues lying in bed after his one night stand has gathered up her dress and heels and left the hotel. He grabs the pillow and hugs it to his chest with another overdramatic, weary sigh. It’s foolish to miss a man he only knew for a few hours, he tells himself. 

But soon enough he’s had sufficient time to wallow in his misery, for the moment at least, and he forces himself to get up, pour a drink from the mini bar, and get dressed. It’s early yet — only eight o’clock — and there’s plenty of time for the Kingpin of Kirkwall to get himself into trouble this evening. 

Once the valet brings him his car, red and bold and flashy like himself, Hawke heads to his favorite Lowtown bar, The Hanged Man, to meet up with his friends for drinks. There are few people a crime lord like Hawke can trust, and nearly all of them are the four here gathered in a small group at this one table. Although the table isn’t literally labeled “reserved for the Kingpin’s inner circle,” it might as well be, since it is the best table in the bar, which isn’t saying much since every table in the Hanged Man is dirty, sticky, wobbly, and on the verge of falling apart. The Hanged Man is a mess of a dive bar. Hawke thinks it’s perfect. 

His mouth smooths into a cocky grin, like a mask sliding over his face, as he spots his friends, and he signals Edwina, the closest waitress, to bring another round of drinks as he takes his seat. 

“You can all rejoice now,” he declares like a king to his court. “I have now made your night by arriving. You’re welcome. No applause necessary.” 

“Why would we applaud?” asks Merrill, confusion crossing her tattooed face. “It’s only you, Hawke.” 

Hawke’s grin widens. He settles back in his chair and lets the sound of his friends’ laughter wash over him. Moments like this come the closest to convincing himself that he’s capable of happiness after all. 

“You should have come sooner,” says Isabela with a pout. “Sebastian here is leaving already.”

“Already?” echoes Hawke, and he matches Isabela’s pout. “Why don’t you stay for just one drink with me?”

Sebastian is standing and gathering his coat when he shakes his head. “My apologies, but I have a prior commitment. I really must be going.”

“That’s code for date,” Isabela says. “I can’t believe you’ve found someone to steal you away from all of us. As if they could be better company. And here I thought you’d always end up with Hawke.”

“I’m so heartbroken,” Hawke adds with a dramatic sigh. “Can’t you at least bring your date to meet us? So we can all hang out together?”

“Because that wouldn’t be intimidating at all,” mutters Varric sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Sebastian remains unmoved, a polite but firm smile on his face. “Good night, everyone,” he says before leaving.

#

It’s now been nearly three months since Hawke met Fenris, and he still hasn’t stopped thinking about that night — or talking about it, to the point where literally every one of his friends is tired of hearing him go on at length about silver hair, eyes like peridots, glowing tattoos, and a very tight grip on a length of pipe. 

“Do you think he’s thinking about me right now?” murmurs Hawke. He’s folded his arms atop the sticky bar counter and pillowed his head upon them. “Do you think he regrets not spending the night with me?” 

Isabela groans. “Not this again.” She signals to the bartender to refill her rum and Coke, adding it to Hawke’s tab. All of his friends put their drinks on his tab. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Varric pats Hawke’s arm. “I’m sure he weeps every night over how he missed out on having the best sex of his life with you,” he deadpans. 

“Thank you,” says Hawke, ignoring Varric’s sarcasm as well the eye rolls and sighs from everyone else. He attempts to finish off his Bud Light with his head still resting upon the bar counter and ends up spilling into his beard. By this point he’s drunk enough not to care. 

“Hawke, you need to move on. This incessant pining isn’t healthy for you,” says Sebastian not unkindly. 

Hawke sits up straight so fast that he knocks over Isabela’s new drink, and she swears as it splashes onto her dress. “None of you understand! You didn’t see him! He’s this ethereal beauty who appeared in the night and then vanished, like a ghost! A sexy, sexy ghost. He was better in a fight than I was and killed more slavers that night than I did, and he was so tragically sad and lost and lonely, and I could have swept him up in my arms and kissed him and protected him from danger, but he left! And I am devastated that he left, because who could ever measure up to him?” 

His drunken ranting seems to garner no sympathy from his friends, who have heard variations on this every week for the past three months. Varric pointedly slides a glass of water toward Hawke. 

Sebastian shakes his head. “Like I said, Hawke, this isn’t healthy.” He stands up and shrugs into his white leather jacket. “I must be going now, but I hope you find a better topic of conversation in my absence.” 

“That’s very unlikely,” Merrill replies sagely. 

Isabela gives Sebastian a suspicious look. “Are you going to be meeting your new friend again? This is, what, the twelfth time in the past month?” 

“Thirteenth,” Merrill corrects her. “He must be a very good friend for you to see him so often.”

“And you still haven’t brought him to us for our approval,” says Hawke disappointedly.

“He is a very dear friend, and he does not need to come here and be subjected to your stories about the ‘mysterious and ethereal beauty’ who walked away from you. No one needs that, but especially not him.” Sebastian stuffs a handful of bills in the tip jar for the Hanged Man’s bartender and waitresses. Then he turns to Hawke and gives him a reassuring smile. “Cheer up, Hawke. I’m sure you’ll find something healthier to fixate on.” 

“Maker, if only,” mutters Isabela, but she winks at Sebastian, teasing him with, “And if only you’d date someone you don’t think is too good for the likes of us.”

“You know who is too good for the likes of us?” says Hawke, staring mournfully into his new glass of beer.

“Oh no, please don’t—”

“Fenris.”

#

Sebastian returns to his apartment. He carefully unlocks his door, balancing the bag of leftovers in his free hand as he walks inside. It's dark and silent, which is only slightly unnerving all things considered. He drops the leftovers in the kitchen before heading to his office. He glances at his watch — It's barely even ten. He knocks lightly, clearing his throat. 

“Hello, my friend. Are you still awake?” Sebastian murmurs. 

A moment passes. The office door unlocks and his temporary roommate peers out at him. 

“Yes,” Fenris says. He doesn't sound like he's been sleeping. He does sound exhausted. “A moment.” The door closes. Sebastian waits patiently as Fenris pushes his makeshift barrier out of the way. 

Once, Sebastian asked Fenris what exactly he does when he's feeling insecure. Sebastian had wanted to help, to make Fenris get a full night's sleep and not wake up in a cold sweat, convinced that Danarius had returned to take him back. Fenris had admitted that he moves the desk, dragging it back and forth depending on whether he has to get out of the room. It's not much, but considering there's no window it's exactly what Fenris needs to feel safe. 

Finally done, Fenris opens the door. There's his cot on the floor and a small stack of books. He also has a single suitcase, which Sebastian bought for him, in which his spare clothes are tossed in haphazardly. There's a rather gross lead pipe in the corner. Fenris refuses to let Sebastian clean it or replace it with another weapon. There are some battles not worth fighting. 

“I brought you food.” Sebastian gestured to the kitchen. “You should join me at the Hanged Man some night.” 

Fenris raises his eyebrows. He looks wary, rather than angry or scared, which is an improvement. 

“You have been here for three months, Fenris. You haven't left except when we went shopping for clothes once. You barely eat. You barely sleep. But you also have gotten restless. Look me in the eyes and say that you don't miss going outside and having real freedom.” 

A moment passes between them. Fenris sighs. His hair is getting long. Sebastian hasn't felt comfortable offering to cut it and Fenris hasn't asked. The silver locks are brushing his shoulders. 

“I… I want to. But every time I think about it I just… I cannot. I am sorry.” Fenris walks over to his cot and sits down. He has a single pillow and every spare blanket Sebastian owns piled onto the small space. “I imagine Danarius around every corner, in every dark room. And if he does come for me, what could you do? I will not allow you to get harmed helping me.” 

“Fenris…” Sebastian crosses the room and goes to sit next to him. “Danarius can return if he wants. He may in the future. But he is not here now. There have not been sightings of anyone matching his description since you arrived.” 

“And what if one of his agents returns for me? One of his lackies, eager to return his prized possession, is all it takes for my freedom to be ripped away.” Fenris flexes his hands. “I cannot risk it. It is dangerous enough for me to remain here with you.”

“But it is better for you to be here than to be in one of the Chantry shelters,” Sebastian reminds him.

“You only say that because I fought one of the others,” Fenris replies. He sighs and tugs on a lock of hair. “I want to believe that Danarius has given up, but he has no reason to and I do not trust him to just forget. One day, whether it be tomorrow or in a year or ten years, he will return.” 

Sebastian swallows. Even after all this time, it still hurts him to see how frightened Fenris is of being recaptured by a ghost from his past. Though Sebastian does not doubt that Danarius is a dangerous man, he does fear that, by letting his past haunt him so much, Fenris is not allowing himself to live. It isn't that simple and Sebastian knows that these are very real fears that Fenris has, but it also is hard when Fenris still has nightmares regularly. 

“If… if you are tired of me, I will leave,” Fenris whispers. 

“What? No, that is not what I'm saying. You may stay as long as you wish. But tomorrow you and I are going grocery shopping.” 

“What? Why?” Fenris looks genuinely startled. 

“Because you need to leave the apartment and I need to replenish the pantry. We're out of the apple scones you enjoy so much.” 

For a moment, Sebastian fears that he is pushing Fenris too far. He can see Fenris shutting down, retreating back even further into his isolation. But then Fenris nods. 

“I… I can do that.” He rubs at his eyes. “I should sleep. You said you brought food?” 

“Yes, but you can eat in the morning. Get some rest, my friend.” Sebastian carefully reaches out and squeezes Fenris's shoulder. Hugs are a bit much for Fenris, but a little bit of physical touch that doesn't hurt goes a long way. “Sleep well.”

Sebastian stands and exits, closing the door softly behind him. As he walks away to his own room, he doesn't hear Fenris push the desk back into place.

#

When the Kingpin of Kirkwall walks into the Hanged Man, people are careful to get out of his way. Corff the bartender immediately switches the bar’s music station to Hawke’s preferred classic rock. His favorite drinks are brought out quickly with complimentary peanuts and bar fries. Nods of respect are given to him, along with looks of fear, as he casually strolls over his group of friends and takes a seat. 

Tonight he finds himself surprised as he sits down, for their group is fewer than usual. 

“Did Sebastian leave already?” Hawke asks, disappointed to discover the red-haired priest absent from the table.

“He hasn’t shown up,” Merrill explains, sipping at her brightly colored cocktail. It smells strongly of absinthe-flavored liqueur. “Do you think his date is early tonight?” 

“I guess so.” Hawke shrugs and takes a swig of his beer. “Hopefully he’ll make it next time.” 

“Choir Boy’s got a better love life than the rest of us,” remarks Varric. “Who would have thought?” 

“Mine’s not bad,” Hawke responds breezily. “It’s, you know, adequate.”

“I said love life, not sex life. Love isn’t exactly a word in your regular vocabulary, Hawke.” 

Hawke grimaces and quickly finishes off his first beer. “True,” he concedes. Love and romance are as unrealistic for him as happiness, and there’s no getting around that fact. 

A scraping noise fills the air as a chair is pulled back from the table and filled. 

Fearing his grimace will become stuck to his handsome face, Hawke turns to the newcomer and sharply says, “That seat is taken.”

“Of course it is. I’ve taken it,” responds Anders smugly. 

If it were anyone else, Hawke would take out his switchblade and make an example of the person who defied him. But as much as he dislikes Anders, Hawke owes Anders a very, very big debt, so he merely sneers and scoots his chair away as much as he can. Isabela and Merrill don’t look in any way thrilled to see Anders join them. 

Taking Hawke’s drink and sipping it with one hand, Anders puts his other hand on Hawke’s wrist and says, “You know, I heard a really funny story at the clinic today.” 

Hawke pulls away and steals Isabela’s drink to replace his own. “That’s nice. I’m sure Varric will enjoy it.”

Not dissuaded, Anders proceeds to talk about his time in the clinic. Varric is politely laughing and engaging in banter, but the others seem more content to drink and play cards. Anders, thankfully, is not willing to lose all his money to Isabela or Hawke in Wicked Grace and does not join in. 

A waitress drops off the next round and the drinks are about half empty when the door to the Hanged Man opens again. Sebastian walks in first. He scans the room and waves to the rest of the group. Behind him, Fenris hesitates before stepping inside as well. 

The noise hits him first. It's much louder than he expected, rowdy and full of life. People are chatting, some order food or drink, and more than a few are gambling eagerly. 

The second thing is the smell of the bar. It's unpleasant the same way any crowd of people get, but it's not the worst. It reminds Fenris of long parties late at night, magisters drinking themselves into stupor and touching whatever they wanted. He takes a moment to center himself, remind himself that this is not the place he is thinking of. 

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asks. Fenris swallows and nods. “Come. They're a strange group of people, as I told you, but they're nice once you get to know them.” 

Isabela has already noticed the two even before they make their way through the crowded room. “Sebastian! Is this your friend? I can see why you kept him hidden.” She looks Fenris up and down, and though she is checking him out it's much less unnerving than Fenris would have thought. “He's very attractive. Where did you find him?” 

Sebastian says something about how Fenris is his friend, how they met a few months ago, but Fenris isn't listening. 

Fenris is too busy staring at a handsome man, dark hair and bright eyes, who is staring with back at him. 

“It’s you…” says Hawke, utterly breathless and utterly lost, drowning in a sea of deep green as he stares into those perfect eyes. “You came back!” 

This moment is so perfect that it’s practically something out of a fairy tale…

Immediately Hawke jumps to his feet and holds out his hand to Fenris. “It’s good to see you again, Fenris. Do you remember me?” 

It feels like everyone is watching them, but Fenris does his best to ignore them. He nods, wrapping his arms around himself. He swallows, glancing away from Hawke. Color lightly dusts his cheeks. 

“I do. How could I forget the kingpin of Kirkwall?” Fenris is oddly vulnerable. 

It’s like the warmth of the very sun has filled Hawke, and his smile is big and soft and so genuine. “I’m glad to see I made an impression,” he says with a small laugh. “I thought you’d left. What made you decide to come back to Kirkwall?” 

“Wait, you two know each other?” Varric cries. 

“Oh!” Merrill gasps in delight. “Are you the mysterious and ethereal beauty Hawke’s been longing for all these months? It’s very nice to meet you at last.” 

“A pleasure,” Isabela says, winking. 

“Yeah, great,” Anders mumbles. 

Fenris is definitely blushing. Sebastian sighs. Hawke laughs nervously and then clears his throat. 

“Thank you, Merrill,” he says. To Fenris he continues, “Sit down and tell me about yourself. When did you get back in town? How have you been? How in Andraste’s holy name do you know Sebastian? Tell me everything. I’ll buy you a drink. I’m single, you know.” 

“So you’re Hawke’s dream boyfriend and Sebastian’s secret boyfriend at the same time?” asks Merrill, her expression remaining the picture of innocence. 

“We aren't dating, Merrill,” Sebastian corrects. He takes a seat next to her and Isabela. 

Fenris realizes there's nowhere else to sit. He remains standing and fidgets, tugging a bit on his sleeves. He looks unarmed, but that's never true. With how on edge Fenris is, he’s just doing his best not to attack anyone out of paranoia. 

“Fenris and I met a few months ago. He is new to the city and I have been helping him get used to Kirkwall,” Sebastian explains. 

“Here, Fenris, you can take my seat. Or sit on my lap,” says Hawke far too eagerly. He pretends not to see the look Sebastian gives him. 

Fenris shakes his head. “Thank you, but I am fine standing.” He feels overwhelmed, everything too much for his senses, and he struggles to ground himself. He thought he would be fine — he had suggested that he finally meet Sebastian's friends — but now that he's actually in the bar his thoughts are reminding him why this was a bad idea. 

“Wait.” Hawke is sober enough to put the pieces together. “A few months ago? Have you been here all this time?” 

“Y… Yes,” Fenris admits. 

A million questions run through Hawke’s mind about why Fenris didn’t come to see him, before he remembers that Fenris has never owed him anything, not that first night or this night or any night in between. Then Hawke looks at Fenris — really looks at him, and he’s not seeing the one night stand that got away. He sees a beautiful but scared elf who appears every bit as anxious as he did that night they fought demons together, as well as every bit as nervous of Hawke’s reactions. 

All these months Hawke’s thoughts of Fenris have been wild, unrealistic dreams of more amazing fights followed by amazing sex, with those full, bow-shaped lips moaning against him, those slender but strong limbs tangled up with Hawke’s. But now that he sees Fenris here, just a shy, anxious man who seems out of place and wary of every sound and movement, Hawke lets go of all of those imaginings. Fenris isn’t a dream any more. He’s real, a real man whom Hawke can somehow picture himself trying to be happy with. 

Or maybe that’s just another unrealistic fairy tale. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks with a shrug, trying not to give away any of his wild thoughts. 

“Fenris, I already ordered for us,” Sebastian speaks up. A look of relief appears momentarily on Fenris's face and he nods to his friend. “Hawke, let Fenris speak with someone else.” 

“Yes, please. We've heard so much around you,” Isabela cuts in. “I'm Isabela. That's Merrill and that's Varric.” 

“Aren't you going to introduce me?” Anders asks. 

“No,” Isabela replies. She smirks up at Fenris. “So you know Hawke and you've been living with Sebastian. Tell me, does Sebastian have a secret room of porn? He's far too clean. He has to have some dark secret.” 

“Clearly he has some kind of secret,” Merrill comments, “since he was hiding Fenris from us.” 

Sebastian sighs loudly. A waitress comes over and drops off two glasses of red wine. Sebastian takes one for himself and hands the other to Fenris, who sips gingerly at it. Fenris winces as the bitter taste runs over his tongue but the aftertaste isn't too bad. 

“There are no secrets in Sebastian's home except for me,” Fenris says. 

“That’s disappointing,” says Isabela. 

“It’s no secret that Sebastian is boring,” Anders adds with absolutely zero sense of self-awareness, rolling his eyes smugly as if he’s sharing in a private joke with Hawke. 

Hawke, for his part, continues to ignore Anders. He doesn’t stop staring wide-eyed at Fenris. 

Fenris seems too awkward to say anything and just coughs. He doesn't look at Hawke either, not directly, but continually glances between him and Sebastian and the others. 

“So what’s it like living with Choir Boy? Do you go to the Chantry with him? Or are you more of a live-in maid?” Varric asks. Sebastian gives him an exasperated look. “What? I'm a writer. I want all the details.” 

“Sebastian and I are good friends,” Fenris answers. “He does not make me do anything if I do not want to do it. But we are looking for other places that I can stay.” 

“You're still in your small apartment, right?” Isabela clarifies. Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that's not a lot of space. Do you two share a bed, get all close and physical in the dark—” 

“ _Isabela_ ,” Sebastian interrupts, exasperation seeping into his voice. 

“You know, I have plenty of spare rooms at my flat,” Hawke adds on, oh so casually. “You’re always welcome to stay with me, Fenris.” 

The others give Hawke looks of surprise, since Hawke does not even invite his dates over to his place, preferring to go to Hightown’s fanciest hotels instead. Hawke rarely even has his friends over, preferring his privacy, and he’s already throwing his arms wide open to a man who’s practically a stranger. 

Truth be told, Hawke is surprised at himself.

“I… I will keep that in mind,” Fenris says diplomatically. A moment of silence rolls over the group. 

“So, I was at a pawn shop the other day and I found this wonderful hat…” Isabela begins. 

Conversation continues through the evening, and still Hawke does not take his eyes off Fenris. Although he’s probably making Fenris a little uncomfortable with his unwavering attentions, Hawke can’t help feeling so drawn in by Fenris. It’s the same magnetic attraction he felt that first night three months ago. 

Hawke has to get to know Fenris more. He knows this deep in his soul.

As the evening turns into night, Fenris doesn’t seem to relax, but the tension does lessen. His shoulders drop. He breathes a bit easier, and he drinks two glasses of wine, though he declines anything harder. He even engages Isabela in light conversation about Kirkwall, though the topic is carefully kept away from anything personal. However it does soon come time for him and Sebastian to leave. 

As they prepare to head back to Sebastian's apartment, Hawke reaches out to gently touch Fenris’s hand. Fenris jumps, startled. 

“May I have a word?” Hawke asks, his voice low. He gestures with his head toward a corner of the bar where they won’t be overheard by the others. 

Fenris glances at Sebastian, who just gives him a blank look. A moment passes where Fenris seems uncertain what to do since Sebastian won't give him guidance, but soon enough Fenris gives Hawke a jerky nod. He follows Hawke to the far corner and tucks himself against the wall. His arms are crossed and his hands grip his biceps. The tension has returned, almost as if he expects Hawke to try stabbing him or to kidnap him. 

Hawke takes a deep breath. “I meant what I said that night. I will do my best to help you and protect you if Danarius comes after you again. You’re not facing this alone. I…” He pauses, smoothing back his hair, unsure why he feels so nervous. “When can I see you again? I don’t want it to be another three months before we run into each other.” 

“... I do not know. Sebastian is your friend. You can ask him if I am busy. I… do not do much.” Fenris bites his lip. “I apologize that I did not reach out to you. There has been a great deal that I have been working through with Sebastian. He is a good man.” 

Aforementioned good man is currently chatting with Merrill while he waits for Fenris. Sebastian keeps looking over at the corner, but he doesn't look like he's about to storm over and demand Hawke back off. So there's that at least. 

Hawke nods. “He is a good man,” he agrees. “I’m glad he’s been looking out for you. Fenris, I don’t blame you for not coming to find me. I told you that night that you don’t owe me anything, and that’s just as true now as it was then. But I would like to see you again sometime, and I would definitely like to get to know you better. Anytime you want. On your terms. Just let me know. I’ll be waiting for you.” 

“You are a good man as well. I would like to know you as well.” Fenris offers Hawke a small smile. “I am glad that I am still in Kirkwall. It seems like a city with much to offer.” 

Hawke grins. Fenris is wrong: Hawke is not a good man. But his heart swells with elation at Fenris’s words. 

“Kirkwall is a great city,” he says, “but it’s infinitely better with you in it.” 

Fenris chuckles before coughing into his hand. He ducks his head down, silver bangs hiding his face. “Thank you, Hawke. I am certain Kirkwall is better with you in it as well.” 

Hawke’s grin only widens, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, I am the Kingpin of Kirkwall, after all. This is my city, and I do what I can to make it a good place for handsome men like you.” 

“Flatterer.” Fenris looks over Hawke's shoulder and catches Sebastian's eyes. “Good night, Hawke. We shall see each other another day.” 

“Good night, Fenris.” 

Like a gentleman, he escorts Fenris and Sebastian to the door and lingers in the doorway as he watches them depart. Hawke's heart beats rapidly as he watches them head off into the moonlit streets, and he’s filled with excitement as he wonders what might be in store for him and Fenris. 

Kirkwall has never looked so beautiful or seemed to offer so much hope as it does tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the rest, as they say, is history... The story continues soon as Hawke and Fenris face the first challenges to their relationship. They might be in love, but not everyone is happy about that.
> 
> Thank you for reading Moonlight! If you liked it, feel free to hit the kudos button or leave a review, we really appreciate it <3


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